


This Was Their Thing

by WriterChick



Series: The Baelishes [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Sansa, Domination, F/M, Jealousy, Modern AU, Obsessiveness, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Possessiveness, Rough Sex, Stalking, Voyeurism, mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where Baelish is a mob kingpin and Sansa is darker...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Was Their Thing

She walked in, her stilettos clicking with purpose, leaving the door swinging behind her.  Her dark green dress, so tight that it kept creeping up her thighs as she moved.  At first she adjusted it repeatedly, but then she gave up and let it go, finding it finally settled just below her ass.   _I guess it gets the point across,_ she thought to herself.

Sansa flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and smiled at the bartender in front of her.  Brienne was a single mom with two kids, boyfriend doing time with only four more months to go.  Brienne needed this job, and it was highly unlikely that she would do anything dishonest and even more probable that she would turn a blind eye to anyone else doing anything less-than-legal.  Sansa noticed the gin and tonic sitting in front of her and mouthed, “thank you.”  She picked up her drink, and placed a pile of napkins found off to the side of the bar in her purse thinking, _these will be useful later._

Sansa sipped slowly as she looked the room over.  No sign of him – Baelish that is.  Petyr Baelish, aka Littlefinger, head of this city’s organized crime and quite possibly the most powerful man alive.  Who knew how mobsters got their names?  Sansa often pretended that it was because he had more power in his little finger than anyone else in the city.  She pictured his lean and disciplined frame, his cool grey-green eyes, and his black hair with dignified streaks of silver at each temple.  A smile tugged at her lips, as she enjoyed the visual. Most men with as much power and money as Baelish would give in to a gaudy lifestyle, excessive jewelry, raging parties, and an obnoxious entourage.  But not him.  He had grown past the pomp and circumstance of pretending to be the biggest baddest boss and found the power of subtlety and efficiency.  On the surface, he appeared as any other middle aged gentleman of means, dressed typically in button up shirts and slacks of good quality in muted colors with polished shoes.  It was easy to overlook him in a room, unless you were Sansa.  She had become quite adept at finding him over the years.

Whether he realized it or not, he always had her attention.  It was her ritual for entering The Mockingbird, Baelish’s home base bar – to look for him.  She would fly by the bouncer Gregor “The Mountain” who would let her in automatically as if deep down understanding that should he deny or question her, she would rear back on her heels and fillet him alive for daring.  She would approach the bar and order her usual, though the good bartenders like Brienne would see her coming and have it ready for her.  She would then lean back and survey the room as she sipped.

She enjoyed watching him, the power and menace that radiated off of him as he spoke and gestured to his crew – his trusted few.  Sometimes he would look up and see her watching him.  He would stare back and a small smile would appear on one side of his mouth as if he was saying in a teasing manner, “I see you.”  She would hold his eyes for a moment or two longer and let the heat of his gaze wash over her, setting her body ablaze.  But not tonight.  He was not there and she would not stand for it.  It had been almost a week since she had his attention and it was _unacceptable_ to her.  A lesser woman would have given up looking for him, maybe even stopped coming to The Mockingbird altogether.  But not Sansa, she got angry – this was their thing, and he was forgetting about it, forgetting about her.  She decided to take a tour of the club in hopes of seeing him from a different vantage point.

As she passed by a booth, a man with dirty blond hair brushed to one side swung his head out and laughed, “Hey gorgeous, settle a bet for me?”

She turned slowly.

“Rigney over here says that beautiful women are immune to my charms so I bet him that I could talk you into sitting with me for a drink.”  He then slid over and rubbed the seat next to him.

Sansa paused and thought for a moment.  She thought about the man who was not available to her, and about this young man who was.  She thought about the blonde’s sleazy smile and the way he massaged the seat of the booth to try to entice her.  Sansa considered the consequences of indulging a man like this and finally she concluded, _he’ll do._

She put on her award winning smile, scanning the room once more before sitting down next to him.  In the bubbliest voice she could muster, she said “just one drink.”  Blondie of course smiled and let some small laughs escape as he glared at his friend Rigney.  “Yeah, totally, just one.”  He then waved at the bartender to send another drink their way.  Brienne nodded her head at the request and then noticed Sansa sitting next to the blonde.  He reached over and draped an arm around her shoulders and Brienne’s eyes widened as she slowly poured the gin.  Sansa gave her what she hoped was a reassuring look, one that said, _it’s okay I want this._  In response, Brienne kept her head down and decided not to notice the booth any further.

As Sansa sat with Blondie and Rigney she felt the space between herself and Blondie closing.  Rigney crafted some poor excuse for leaving and with the added privacy, Blondie started playing with her hair.  When she turned to face him, he leaned in and kissed just below her jaw as his other hand reached down further over her shoulder to cup one of her breasts.  While he wasn’t unattractive, such crass behavior diminished any appeal.  She slowly pulled away from his kiss with a smile and redirected his hand to her waist.  He looked up at her slightly confused – clearly not used to gentle rejection.  He placed his other hand on her knee, pulling her further towards him, meeting her resistance with more insistent tugs.  Recognizing his inability to be put off, she decided to change tactics and placed her hand on his then turned to his ear, “After.  I need to run to the ladies real quick first.”

He nodded with a dumb grin on his face, “Oh okay, yeah.  I’m in no rush, I want to take my time with you anyway.”  Then he offered her a wink.   

She smirked back as she scooted out of the booth looking straight ahead for the bathroom, across the room, down a darker hallway.  As she walked away her skin crawled from the blonde’s touch and she thought, _Did he have to be so creepy?  Really I’m doing him a favor._  Just as she passed through the archway into the shadowy hall littered with different patrons propped against the sides, two hands grabbed both of her hips from behind.  They yanked her back against a hard frame and an even harder bulge against her ass.  She felt his goatee tickle where her neck met her shoulder as he leaned in, trailing soft kisses.  Tingles resonated through her as she considered the possessive grey-green eyes belonging to the man behind her. They were eyes she'd stared into countless times over the years.  Feeling already so wet for him, she rested her head against his shoulder and pushed back further into his pelvis.  She breathed in his familiar cologne and an essence of mint, smiling up at the ceiling like the Cheshire Cat.

He pulled his mouth away and rested his chin on her shoulder as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair.  Purring into her familiar touch before he finally he spoke, his voice was low and smooth as silk, “Richard Farrow.  27 Cedar Lane.  Apartment 2B.  No dogs.  No wife.  One kid he doesn’t see.”

Sansa held her smile as she picked her head up, “Wait, his name is _Dick_?”  After a short pause, “Well, that’s fitting.”

There was an impatient sigh over her shoulder, “I can’t keep cutting off greedy hands.”

“I’ve never known you to be lazy in your affections.”  She countered.

He smiled and she could feel his lips against her neck, sending another shiver down her body.  He enjoyed her response to him, “How many men have I killed for touching you over the years?”

Another surge of arousal pooled between her legs as she thought of the power he held and his obsession with having her.  She wanted to turn around and succumb to him, beg him to fuck her, and knew that on some occasions he would like that best. In this particular instance, however, he would prefer her mettle.  She countered again with, “The better question is: how many lives lost and you still haven’t learned?  Are you willful or incapable?”

He said nothing, slowly shifting to rub his erection against her.  She took the small victory of his silence and pushed further, “Tell me, are you hard right now because you can tell I’m not wearing any panties?”  His breathing by her ear became labored as his fingertips traced the bottom of her dress.  She continued, “Or is it because you may have actually enjoyed watching me with Dick earlier?”  He then growled and bit the back of her neck, sending a wave of icy shivers through her body, as she let out a loud uncontrolled moan.  Suddenly she was turned in his arms and backed up against the wall, one of her legs lifted to rest on his hip.  She barely had a moment to wonder how it got there before she watched him bring his fingers down between her legs.  Pushing past the short curly hair, he spread her lips, going immediately for her nub.  He set to work vigorously petting her as he drove his forehead into her cheek.  His voice was punishing as he ground out his words, “I should fuck you right here against this wall so that everyone can see me possess you.”

Her eyes fluttered as she felt the intoxicating effects of his touch, “Yes, let everyone see how responsive I am – I’m sure lots of people would like to see what’s under my skirt.”

He clenched his jaw, stifling another growl as he slowly pulled his hand up to push her leg down.  He then held her hand in his, and lifted his forehead from her cheek, though he would not look up at her.  All the anger had drained from him as he apologized for his recent negligence, “I am sorry, I’ve had – obligations.”

She played with the gold wedding band on his finger with her own naked hands. “Yes, I’m well aware of your _obligations._  Apologies are words.  Give me your attention.”

He looked up at her and there was an excited gleam in his eye and a grin returned to his face.  She gave a slight nod, confirming her desire for his attention.  His voice became deep and commanding as he uttered, “Come.”

Sansa felt herself get pulled from the wall and trail down the hall behind him.  She was taller than him, but his strides were so fast and sure that she felt herself almost lift off the ground slightly as if she were a kite.  She was not surprised when their destination was the back office.  He picked her up and set her on the desk, his hands reaching up and cradling her head as he kissed her thoroughly, dominating her with his mouth.  Sansa reached for his chest and ripped open his shirt, buttons flying in either direction.  She broke away from his kiss to lean down and run her teeth over his chest, careful not to scrape the scar that trailed down his torso. Sansa passionately bit down on one of his pecs as her hands settled on the muscles of his back.  Baelish’s eyes shut for a moment, letting his head fall back with a groan.  After a controlled exhale he beheld the cascade of red hair below his chin. Seeing only auburn locks, he felt for the fabric of her dress and pulled it out from under her, up to her hips. Wedging a thigh between her knees, to start, he imposed himself further, parting her legs for him completely.  As Sansa felt his palm come down and cup her womanhood, she let go of his back and immediately began wrestling his pants open.

He wanted to push his middle and ring finger into her but didn’t.  He hadn’t been with her in a week’s time and knew she would be tighter as a result.  He also knew that he was not pleased that she allowed another man to touch her, and somehow giving her all of himself without warning or preparation would feel justified in the moment.  As he felt himself free from his pants, the open air so cool and uninviting, he ached to be inside her again. His finger tips played at the edge of her slippery entrance, “Mm, so wet for me.  Tell me, do you _need_ it?”

She massaged him, starting at the tip and moving down towards the base, watching the pearly white bead form.  She did need it, but this time she was playing it smart with him, “I guess if you’re finally available.”

“I won’t apologize again.”  He snarled.

“Good.”  She growled back and bit his chin.

He laughed out loud then and without warning pulled her hand away and rammed into her.  She yelped, more in surprise than pain.  Then she chuckled softly as they remained still, feeling each other’s internal pulse.  Slowly he moved back and forth inside of her and she moaned arching herself into him.  He started with his hands on her hips as he guided himself to and from her. In her excitement she began rocking to meet him, trying to find their mutual rhythm.  His speed kept gaining as his jealousy made him remember Dick’s hands on her breast.  He reached under the scrunched up fabric to grab her ass and still her motion saying, “No, you don’t get to.  I’m doing this.”

Confused at being stopped, she pulled her face away and looked him over.  She felt the strength with which he thrust into her and the intensity in his face as his eyes bore into her.  She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Punishing me?”

He slowed his pace as he looked up at her, taken off guard, “No.”  Reaching up he rubbed his thumb over her cheek bone and kissed her passionately.  “I’m claiming you.”  He kissed her again and said, “You are mine.”

She felt a wave of heat pour over her and a new surge of wetness, and she knew she had to push him further, “Show me.”  

He didn’t think it was possible to get any harder but was proven wrong.  He reached up and bawled a fist in her hair as if to yank, though chose to direct her head to the side gently as he said, “You – all of you.  These are mine.”  He kissed her lips and then pulled away, releasing her hair.

He reached down and exposed her breasts in one fierce tug, “These tits are mine.”  He cupped one, massaging it as he wrapped his lips around another.  She bucked forward into him, unable to stop herself.  She felt him smile against her breast.  He then trailed his hands down her stomach and over the bunched dress around her waist.  He found the wet mound of red curls wrapped around his cock and slid his thumb between the folds.  Slowly rocking back and forth within her as he declared, “And this pussy is definitely _Mine._ ”  

She groaned lifting her head up, pushing her chest out, and rolling her hips into his touch.  He watched her breasts bounce slightly with the motion and he smiled knowing he was owning her.  It was then that it occurred to him that there was a part of her he'd forgotten.  As he suddenly let go of her and started to retreat from her, he whispered, “Get up.”

Pulled from her ecstasy, she looked mildly irritated for a moment before she realized what he wanted, and knew she wanted it too.  She turned around and bent over the desk, never bothering to shimmy her dress off.  She spread her legs wide in invitation, laying shamelessly over his paperwork.  She felt his hand rub up against the back of her thigh and glide over her backside, grabbing handfuls and massaging.  He entered her from behind and began sliding in and out, deeper and deeper.  Sansa felt her lower lips crush into the wooden desk as the hard surface caused a delicious friction on her clit with each push forward.  There was a tugging and tweaking at her nipples that she couldn't figure out.  There was no way that Petyr could reach her there, especially with them shoved up against the desk.  It wasn’t until she looked down and noticed the desk calendar beneath her that she realized she was rubbing against the binding each time he entered her.

The desk provided the immovable surface he needed to exert himself into her as much as humanly possible.  His hands continued to massage her plump bottom as he heard her beg in a breathy voice, “Spank me.”

Without thought or hesitation he gave her a firm spank and roared as her walls clenched around him.  His fingers spread, grabbing large handfuls of her cheeks as he drove himself faster and harder into her.  Through gritted teeth, he barely got out, “ _My_ ass.”

Sansa felt her body tingle and pulse as she moaned, “uh-huh.”  Her head bobbed back and forth, breathing a more concrete, “Yes.”  She was reaching her arch and knew the erratic way with which he was pumping into her, meant that he was too.  She held her breath trying to delay.  When she heard him inhale she knew it was time and she breathed in and out, allowing the increased blood flow to send her over the edge with him as she uttered, “Oh my – FUCK!”

He was not as eloquent as he sprayed himself inside of her, his utterings unintelligible.  He remained still inside her for a moment before he started to lose his size and slowly pulled out, falling back in the office chair that he had pushed away earlier.  He sat there with his pants around his ankles, shirt hanging open as he caught his breath.  Sansa didn’t move.  She remained bent over the desk, only now propped up on her elbows, head turned back to watch him.  He gawked at her dark pink opening and the seed he had left behind, slowly sliding out and creating a short stream down her thigh.  He knew that she stayed that way for him – she knew that when the opportunity presented itself, he liked to see her like this.  It was one thing to tell her how much she was his and to touch her everywhere no one else could, but it was deeply gratifying to actually see the evidence of his possession of her.

After a moment he said, “It’s a shame you didn’t wear any underwear.”

“Oh?”  She eyed him with mock suspicion.

“What else am I going to clean my cock with?”  He offered her a cheeky smile.

She rolled her eyes and pointed to her purse, “There are napkins in there – I had a feeling we would need them.”

He chuckled as he kicked his pants and shoes free before getting up and grabbing her purse.  He unclasped it and looked inside.  Makeup, credit cards, keys, napkins, and at the very bottom of the small clutch was a three carat emerald cut diamond ring.  He picked it up without her knowledge and put it on his own pinky finger for safe keeping.  Shutting the purse and tossing it on the desk beside her, he set to wiping himself with the napkins.  He crouched down and wiped up her leg and around her lips, then placed a firm kiss on her behind before saying, “Thank you.”

“For?”  She started to pull herself up off the desk.

As he started to stand up he answered, “You know I like that view.”

She smiled at him as she backed herself up on the desk, “And you know I like it when you mark your territory.”

He advanced, guiding her legs apart again, this time simply to be closer to her as he picked up her hand and slid the ring back onto her finger, “You shouldn’t take this off, even to prove a point.”

She smiled, “Got your attention, did I?”

He shook his head, “You’re not understanding.  Whether you wear the ring or not, you are mine, and everyone knows it.  And anyone who comes into one of my establishments and doesn’t know that you’re my wife – ring or not – is too stupid to live anyway.”

His voice was deadly and she felt her blood rush in response again, but forced herself to calm down.  It was too soon after and she knew it.  She decided to keep playing, “I would have your attention again. They're always just a means to an end, intelligence hasn't ever been a requirement.”

He fumed silently at the memory of the idiotic blonde that dared to touch his wife. Petyr rested his forehead against hers as he explained, “I’m starting a new venture, these things take time.”

“A week apparently.”

He sighed and pulled his head up, “No, it’s not done yet.  I just couldn’t--”

She picked up where he broke off, “stand seeing me so unattended?”

“It was long for me too.  It’s not as if I was so consumed with work that I never gave you a thought.  You are always there, in every free moment, every second that I don’t have to contribute, I think of you.  I find myself reaching for my phone and--” He broke off again.

Most people might have thought he was going to say that he would start dialing her number or sending her a text or maybe flip through pictures of her or them together.  But most people didn’t know him like Sansa did.  “The comfort of the cameras…”

He may have felt guilty if she were someone else, someone who didn’t like to be watched.  But twelve years together told him she reveled in the constant camera feed.  On a more practical side, it offered her twenty four – seven protection.  And while it fed his obsession for her, it also nurtured her need to be adored.  Anytime he wondered how she was or what she was up to, he would pull his phone out of his pocket and access the feed.  He watched her do everything from mundane daily things, to entertaining guests, to showering…  It was never a secret, from the moment they were installed--the first couple anyway (the ones that came after were another story), and sometimes he was sure she was doing things on purpose for the cameras, for him.

She confirmed his thoughts by saying, “While I bask in your ever watchful eye, I want you with me and I don’t care what I have to do to assure it.”

He couldn’t hold back his smirk.  He admired her determination and her fearlessness.  Seriousness bled through his smile, attempting to distract her from focusing too long on the video feeds he wasn't as honest about. “You shouldn’t toy with me.  I’m a very dangerous man you know.”

Sansa reached up and gently pushed the last remaining article of clothing he wore off of his shoulders and said with a distinct lack of authenticity, “I’m absolutely terrified.”

He grabbed her ringed hand and kissed it's open palm, “Most women are terrified of the affections of powerful men.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and returned, “Most women are boring.  And afraid.  Boring women try to escape.  But _I’m_ not interested in _escape_.  Why would I leave behind what is mine?”

“Yours?”  He chuckled softly against her hand.  He distinctly recalled claiming her just then, not the other way around.  He reached down with his other hand and pushed against her damp lips gently, only to feel the very slightest of stiffening throughout her body.  “Sore?”  He asked, concern forming in his brow, as he retracted his fingers.

Taking her hand out of his, she stood up off of the desk.  She pushed her dress all the way down, letting it pool around her shoes.  Petyr’s eyes left hers, taking in the entirety of her nakedness.  He brought his hand down and absentmindedly traced an old scar far below her belly button but just before her mound of curls.  Remembering that his question had not been answered, he lifted his gaze back to hers. She nodded slightly and before he could make to apologize, she pulled away from him and turned around, allowing him to see how well her heels pushed her ass up and underneath the red waves of hair falling down her back.  She walked toward the couch and sat down, spreading her legs wide open to him. Her hand rubbed down her thigh as she appealed to him, “Kiss it better for me?”

He watched her fingertips travel dangerously close to the red pussy he just claimed and he felt the familiar stirring in his cock.  There was no hesitation in him as he dropped to the floor, and crawled on all fours towards her brazen self-exposure.  He stopped at her feet and began unfastening her shoes as he listened to her continue, “You see, you may have my body over and over again, but you need to know that _I_ possess _you._ ”

Her voice, so suddenly confident and deliberate, and the musky scent of their sex radiating from between her legs, a mere foot away from his face, built the desire in him further. To keep listening to the erotic tone in her voice, he questioned, “Is that so?”

She grinned proudly, “It is.  Your obsession for me controls you.  As powerful as you are, you can’t function without me, without watching me, touching me, tasting me.”

He nodded in agreement and kissed the inside of her knee as he tossed the second shoe back behind him.  She continued, “How often do you check your phone?”

He couldn’t answer – he didn’t know.  Too much, he knew that.  His lack of an answer simply proved her point, “Thought so.  Tell me, do you watch me touch myself?”

He was trailing wet kisses up her inner thigh, eyes closed, and breathing in her scent. He didn't recognize his own voice, so broken with lust, as he responded, “Yes.”

He could hear the tease in her voice, “Do you touch yourself when you watch me?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”  She threaded her fingers through his hair.

He heard her encouragement and couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward to kiss the lips before him as he would her mouth.  She let out a quiet moan before she continued, “I bet sometimes you leave your _obligations_ to run to the bathroom and jerk off to me.”

At her naughty words, he pushed his tongue forward, tasting the familiar tang of her. Auburn curls tickled his nose as he mouthed an affirmative into her.  She moaned triumphantly, “Thought so.”

He circled his tongue around her nub while massaging the insides of her thighs.  She continued in a controlled voice, “See how _I_ possess _you_?  I make you kill for me, I consume all of your thoughts and steal your attention.  Hell, on a whim I can even make you touch yourself.”

He couldn’t deny the truth in her scandalous words.  Littlefinger, top dog in the city’s crime underworld, owning thirteen legitimate establishments and countless ones “off the books,” dipping the rest of his fingers in gambling, black marketeering, prostitution, and drugs, answered to no one.  For a moment, he wanted to pull his face up and ask her what made her different from any other trophy wife powerful men threw money at.  But he knew better.  He knew exactly how she was different.  His obsession with her offered her a leash with which to lead him.  Other women wouldn’t understand, being either ignorant to it or intimidated.  Sansa, on the other hand, used it and more importantly she knew _when_ to use it.  Her intentions and needs fit him so perfectly.  He didn’t mind her expressed control over him, in fact he found himself relishing it. He deepened his kisses, letting his tongue further enjoy her taste.

Her breathing became shallow as she said, “Even now, you are on your hands and knees for me, greedily lapping me up.”

His hand reached down and began rubbing himself, he couldn’t help it, listening to her speak this way always got to him.  His other hand firmly gripped her hip and he opened his eyes as he continued licking her.  He knew just how she liked it.  Her stomach muscles flex with her excitement and his delight.  His eyes traveled up the valley between her breasts, so round with tight little peaks accenting them perfectly.  Her top teeth bit down on her bottom lip and her eyes kept fluttering shut as she let little moans and mewls escape.  He knew those sounds.  Those were sounds of her getting close.  He wanted nothing more than to sit back, pull her off the couch and onto him, and ride inside of her again.  But he knew she was sore and wanted to give her some time to recover before he took her again.  He tugged at himself harder as his licks got faster and sloppier.

Her hands gripped his head, pushing him further into her, and her legs instinctively flew over his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer.  She arched back and howled as her ecstasy spasmed through her.  Soaring so high, she was barely aware of him shaking in a rhythm underneath her legs. He sat back on his heels masturbating to the view of her completely satisfied and gasping to catch her breath.  Her eyes blinked open, as she started to realize the world around her again. She interrupted him when she caught sight of him blatantly gaping at her, his hand wrapped firmly around himself, tugging feverishly. She commanded, “Stop.”

He looked at her in confusion, on the brink of his own climax, “What?!”

“Stop.  Now.”  She was unyielding in her demand as she pulled her legs off of his shoulders.

He held his hand up in the air, showing her his compliance as he let out a pained sigh, “You are cruel.”

“You jerk off to me all the time, it seems.  It’s become old hat.”  She smiled and pulled her legs together in front of him, as if closing herself to him finally.  She motioned for him to come closer, though he didn’t understand.  “Get up and come here.”  He rose to his feet but appeared unsure how to advance.

“I’m going to suck you, because you are mine, and I want to watch you fall apart.”  She smiled as she gestured for him to set one knee on either side of her on the couch. He followed her nonverbal instruction, placing himself before her.  Sansa would normally go slow, teasing at first to building his need, but she knew the need was already there and wanted to relieve him of his ache.  The night had been hard on him, her lessons usually were, and she knew it.  Without hesitation, she brought him into her mouth and began bobbing her head up and down, listening to his very vocal pleasure.  It was his turn to place his hand on her head as he braced himself with his other arm against the wall behind them.  She sucked with a powerful intensity that he knew would help him finish quicker, so he felt no embarrassment in coming too fast.  It was with a sharp inhale and a silent scream at everything and nothing, that he exploded in her mouth, squeezing his fingers in her hair at the intensity of it.

Sansa swallowed him repeatedly before he was done pulsing, then gently licked and sucked him clean, tending to her husband with care.  When she had finished, she rested the side of her face against his pubic bone as he combed her hair gently, placing some strands behind her ear.  Neither of them said, “I love you.”  It wasn’t their way.  But it was always there, in the softer, tender moments that they shared.  Finally, she picked her head up and he pulled himself off of the couch.  He extended his hand to her, assisting her to stand.  As Sansa retrieved her shoes, he put his pants on and picked up the rest of their clothes.

He plopped down on the office chair to put his socks on and wearing nothing but her heels, Sansa walked over to him, “I need that dress, you know.”

He smiled, “I do know.”

“Well, are you going to give it to me?”  She asked and playfully swiped at him.

He caught her arm and pulled her down into his lap laughing, “I want to dress you.  Can you be patient and wait for me to finish first?”

“I am capable of dressing myself.”

“You wanted my attention.”  He smiled at her and pushed further, “Give me a great view while put my shoes on?”  

“Alright,” she stood naked and smiling in front of him as he crammed his feet in his shoes, thankful these ones did not require lacing. He shrugged himself back into his shirt and fastened a couple of buttons, at least the ones he could as so many were missing now.  He wiggled his finger for Sansa to stand closer to him, and when she did, he leaned forward and kissed the horizontal scar above her pubic bone. Her smile widened and she ran her fingers through his hair, “Do you want to check on them before we go to bed?”

“You know me so well.”  He dropped the dress to the floor and pointed at the circle of fabric, motioning for her to step into it.  Once she had, he pulled the green velvet up her legs and stood as he continued to clothe her.  For a moment he picked at the material trying to cover more of her.  “This doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it?”

She laughed and cupped his face with her hand, “Well, it got the point across, I hope.”

He glanced at his desk, papers crinkled and strewn in disarray, and smiled at the memory of how they got that way. He turned his face in her hand, kissing her open palm again as he praised her, “You’ve got a talent for illustrating a point.”  He gave her purse to her, and wrapped an arm around her, letting his hand settle comfortably on her hip before pulling his phone out of his pocket and calling for his driver, “Bring the car around, I’m taking my wife home.”

**Author's Note:**

> This piece as well as all of my work to date is edited by Faradaze, whom I truly can not thank enough.  
> Please check out this piece by her: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7540495/chapters/17144578


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